


Meme fill: genre sentences for McCoy/The Not-Yet-Ex

by kayliemalinza



Series: Rambleverse [4]
Category: Star Trek (2009)
Genre: F/M, Kayliemalinza's Rambleverse, McCoy POV, Pre-Academy Years (Rambleverse Timeline)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-02-04
Updated: 2011-02-04
Packaged: 2017-11-02 07:27:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 624
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/366470
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kayliemalinza/pseuds/kayliemalinza
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An overview of the McCoy marriage in a series of moments.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Meme fill: genre sentences for McCoy/The Not-Yet-Ex

**Author's Note:**

> stunt_muppet requested McCoy/The Ex for the [sentences meme](http://kayliemalinza.livejournal.com/230325.html). Several of the genres were filled with longer fics that are posted separately. I left out the AU and crossover because they are not a part of Rambleverse.

**UST**

The windows keep out most of the heat, but the sunshine is having a grand ole time and slices through in uncouth slants. It's like a surgery lamp focused on the TA. She's some statistics grad student, if he remembers right, and she has a back like an arrowhead. Leonard'd bet good money that her musculature is sharp and angled underneath that discount blouse and defined enough that he could trace the curves of the glutei medii right on down to the dimples of Venus. Her arms alone are an anatomist's wet dream. He makes a catalogue of the movements of bone and muscle beneath the skin as she wrangles the holographic graph line to her will.

Then she turns around and Leonard thinks maybe he should give up this whole doctor business; she puts him to shame the way she can dissect a person with her eyes.

 

 

**First Time**

Leonard wipes his mouth with the back of his hand and lays his head on her thigh. It's uncomfortably hard against his ear but soft on the inside where his fingers are circling in drowsy strokes, smoothing slickness into the skin like it's a hand-rubbed oil finish on carved and precious wood.

He's wore out. He's just going to rest a minute, curled up in the footwell of her desk where it's dark and her calves are snug against him.

"I really did have a question about Poisson distribution, honest," he mumbles.

 

 

 **Poetry** (instead of crackfic) 

 

_preface to a wedding_

he flirted with someone else  
openly and loud for her to see.  
she snatched him home  
and turned his wrists red  
with the rope and the bed.

she said  
i gotta lock my boy away from the world  
and he said  
yes please, if you're locked away with me.

she said,  
i'll keep you safe  
i'll keep you mine  
i'll brick up the door and  
kill those who dare--

he should have startled, but  
he already knew  
their stubborn shells  
could slice and stab.  
he was safe, because  
their innards coupled  
snug and easy  
like oiled gears.

he should have pulled back, but  
their intransigent parts had clicked  
like a padlock and its shackle.

 

 

**Hurt/Comfort**

Leonard's taking a course in microsurgery. He's started tracing the scar that jags around her upper arm in certain lights, promising that the next time (God forbid there is one, honey) he'll be the one to stitch her back together. Josa'd say he's already done that but she ain't a thing that can be stitched, really.

 

 

**Angst**

Josa has been cold and a little distant since she got back from that extended business trip; all that travel must've wore her out, and it's a hell of an audit that goes three weeks over schedule. But her body, at least, is warm and pressed up flush against him. It's not the best sex they've had, not close, but it's good because he missed her so damn much.

Josa sighs and settles her head down on her elbows, flexing backwards like her back is a sloping platter of finger foods and Leonard should feel free to dig right in. He does; he presses his thumb along the hollow beneath her scapula and rubs his palm broadly across the base of her spine.

Leonard's just got into his stroke when Josa goes rigid and says his name. She _says_ it, not a moan or encouragement or nothing like that, but a flat-voiced statement like she has to remind herself who's back here.

"What the hell," says Leonard.

Josa doesn't answer and the rest of the marriage is, generally speaking, more of the same.

_What the hell, honey. Goddammit, darlin'. Fuck if I know, sugar._

What can't you tell me, Josa?


End file.
